The Myriad Misadventures of a Midgardian Queen-In-Training || Loki x Reader

Chapter 48

"Welcome back to Good Evening, America! Tonight marks the last night before our final four contestants return to the palace, after spending nearly a month back in the real world."

The last week and a half of your trip have passed in a blur. It's a shame, really—you're not sure when, after the competition, you'll ever have the chance to visit Argentina, Germany, and Russia, all expenses paid. But you can't focus on anything, moving on autopilot through every sightseeing trip and ambassadors' dinner. You're much too preoccupied with the question of after.

After the competition, that is.

Which may come sooner than you'd previously thought.

You haven't seen Loki since that night at the Marriott. You've tried to experiment with your apparently semi-psychic connection, wishing for him to appear in moments of particular emotional crisis...but nothing. Not quite nothing—you swear sometimes you can feel him on the other end. A presence in the back of your mind. Sometimes he—it—feels distressed, too. But he never comes in person. Like he's trying to give you distance.

Like he's trying to take some distance for himself.

As the trip has gone on, it's become more and more clear that none of the other three girls has any intention of backing down. They all do their best dressing for every event, dazzling the foreign correspondents with their wit and charm, and any movements towards friendship you had made before seem frozen in time. Rosa's temper is shorter than ever; Irina is friendly, but a bit more reserved; and Rhea has become so quiet, it's beginning to border on aloof.

Every day, you watch them swan about, juggling gowns and parties and astonishing amounts of political knowledge (knowledge which you know you could match, but still—they make it look so effortless ), and every day you come a little closer to admitting what you had been so adamant about that first day you'd submitted your name to be drawn:

There is no way I'm going to be the final one left.

The way you see it, you have two options. You can stay at the palace, and watch him Choose one of the other girls (at the moment, your bets are on Rhea, with her seemingly natural sense of pedigree). Watch him court her, fall for her, propose to her—all while acting as his trusted advisor and best friend. His wingwoman, even. And with every day that passes, you grow less and less sure that's something you want to do.

By your last evening in Argentina, you've come to the conclusion that it would be more than you can bear.

Which leaves you with option two. You close your eyes, relishing the feel of the sand, cool and damp, beneath your bare feet. Beaches, you note. Add that to the list of things I missed while at the palace. The list of things you'll have to console you, once you tell Loki your decision.

Speaking of which...

You haven't been successful in "summoning" him again. You suspect part of it is the fact that you hadn't been trying the first time. But you've been paying attention enough to know what kind of feelings will get a tug of sensation back. You dig your nails into the palms of your hands, eyes still closed, breathing deeply and focusing with all your might.

"You certainly are persistent."

Your eyes fly open. He's blinking, clearly adjusting to the low light; he glances down at the sand, and with a snap sends his dress shoes somewhere else. "Are you so surprised?"

"No, I suppose not." He sticks his hands in his pockets. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"Walk with me?"

In response, he offers you his arm. You wind your arm through the crook of his elbow, and lead him along the shoreline.

"I've been thinking."

"A miracle," he mutters. You laugh in spite of yourself, jabbing him in the side lightly with your elbow.

"I'm serious ."

"I'm sure." You spend a few more moments in that pleasant, playful silence, before he breaks it by asking, "About what were you thinking?"

"I'm not sure I want to come back to the palace once this trip is over."

If he's taken aback by your answer, he doesn't show it (though you suspect that, could you see his face, his expression would tell a different story). "Any particular reason why?"

"I..."

"Did something happen with one of the other women?"

"No! No, that's not it," you assure him. "It's just..." It would hurt too much to watch you fall in love with someone else. "Um. Speaking of the other women, I was wondering if we could talk about them."

"May I ask why?"

"I...I want to help, I guess."

"Help?"

"Yes. Listen." You've reached your favorite landmark along the beach: a little gazebo, built high up enough that it's out of reach of the waves, but with a beautiful view of the setting sun. You tug him inside, and sit yourself down on one of the benches built along the wall. "I know these girls. Arguably better than you do." He opens his mouth to argue, but you hold up a hand, and he stops short.

At that moment, a loud clap of thunder rings out. It feels almost too timely; you nearly giggle as the two of you watch a drop or two of rain turn into a full-blown downpour outside the bounds of the gazebo.

He says something.

"What?" It's the rain, too loud for you to hear him. He snaps, and suddenly the white-noise fades; after a few seconds, you notice (with no shortage of gratitude) that this little piece of magic somehow has the added benefit of keeping you both dry.

"You want to help me decide on who..." He raises his eyebrows emphatically. You nod. He purses his lips, looking less than convinced. But he doesn't argue. "I suppose I could use all the help I can get." He smiles a bit as he says it, in that wry way that makes you want to touch his cheek and smack his shoulder all at once.

"My point exactly," you tease him in return. Your confidence quickly falters as you continue on to the next point of your argument. "But if I'm not going to return to the palace, I thought maybe we could talk about it now."

"I suppose we could." His voice sounds as small as you feel. Still, you're left stung by his lack of protest. You try to shake it off. No point in being angry that he is letting you have your way.

"I guess the first question is, um..."

"Yes?"

You take a deep breath. "Well, y'know." This is it. The question you almost couldn't work up the courage to ask. "Which one of them you have feelings for."

"Does that matter?"

"I-" You stare at him. "Yes? This is marriage we're talking about."

"Yes." He chuckles, a bit sadly. "Yes, it is."

"Do you...not marry for love? Back in Asgard?" You bite your lip, realizing. "Oh. Nevermind. Royal family, and all that."

"Precisely.

"So you see marriage as..."

"More of a business deal than a love affair, yes."

"Okay." You both pause. Somehow, this piece of information is simultaneously better and worse than the straightforward answer you'd been expecting. "For the record, I think that's really sad, but okay. So are we basing this exclusively on how...I don't know, how competent they would be as rulers? Because if that's the case, it's really a tie, I would think."

"Of course. All of you are more than capable."

You laugh. "Well, all of them." Not all of us. Not me.

"What?"

"We're weighing your actual options, here. Remember?"

He looks deadly serious for a moment, locking eyes with you, his voice is quiet but firm as he replies:

"I am."